


Meet me at the corner

by DracoIgnis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, F/M, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Love, Young Adults, Young Love, a little drama, alternative universe, can't be helped!, relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-06-28 04:02:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoIgnis/pseuds/DracoIgnis
Summary: Jon wants to leave town and make something of himself. Daenerys is new in town, hoping to make a difference. As they fall in love, the question becomes - can they make it work?





	1. First meetings

“You are going to make someone _very_ happy today.”

Jon reached across the counter and accepted the bouquet of flowers from the florist. He pushed his nose in between the stems, smelling the sweet dragonsnaps, and let his fingertips brush across the soft petals of daisies and lilies. “It is lovely,” he agreed.

“A new one every week,” the florist pondered out loud. She leaned her elbows on the counter as she plopped her face down to rest in her hands, her eyes thoughtful. “Must be one lucky lady you’ve got.”

Jon smiled slightly as he slipped on his sunglasses. “I suppose.”

“Bring her by one day. I’d like to meet her.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jon promised.

“That means no,” she huffed, “You could at least be frank with me.”

“Okay, then - _no_ ,” Jon empathised as he stepped outside into the sun. As the door shut behind him, he could hear her laugh.

 _At least I’ve made someone happy this week_ , he thought to himself as he started making his way downhill toward the harbour, the bouquet swinging by his side. He hadn’t managed to do the same for himself.

It started Monday when his van broke down. The old Volvo had been making noises for a while, but Jon had purposely cranked up the radio to max volume to drown out the sounds. _Perhaps_ , he thought, _if I can’t hear it, it’s almost like the problem doesn’t exist._ Of course, that didn’t last forever. As smoke started seeping out from beneath the hood, resembling a grumpy dragon, it was time to visit the mechanic.

Then Tuesday came along with bills, bills, and more bills. His landlady also decided to make an appearance, reminding him that: “Rent is not an option, it’s an obligation.” He had just managed to scrape enough cash together to make up his arrears when the mechanic called, telling him that his car would suit the local scrapyard. _Great_.

Wednesday, however, he hit a new low. In the early hours of the morning he was awoken by heavy knocking on the door. Barely awake, he’d answered, almost expecting his landlady to be back for round two. But instead he found his old friend from university, Sam, standing drenched in the hallway.

“She kicked me out,” Sam said, a nervous smile on his lips as he referred to his fiancee Gilly.

“ _Again_?” Jon asked, but let him scoot past him inside. Sam scuttled toward the sofa and made himself comfortable, not awaiting any further invitation. He stayed like that for all of Thursday and Friday, moaning about his love life whenever Jon was around.

 _But today will be different,_ Jon promised himself and slipped out his mobile to glance at the time, _Today, nothing will bring me down._

He didn’t see the bicycle hit him, but he felt the wheel push into the side of his knee as he was knocked to the ground. He lost his grip on the bouquet and it went into the air, the ribbon loosening and the flowers scattering.

There was a hollow sound as metal was dropped onto the pavement. From the corners of his eyes, he saw the spinning wheels of the bike, and he heard the sound of footsteps come close. “Oh, Gods!” someone cried, “Are you okay?”

Jon prodded himself up to sit and pulled off his shades. At first, all he could focus on was the light bruises on the palms of his hands, bits of rock stuck in a bloodied scrape, but as a shadow fell above him, he looked up and gawked.

There she stood. Whoever _she_ was. The sun was hitting her from behind, making her silver hair glow, and between the falling petals from the bouquet, softly landing on them like drops of pink rain, her violet eyes stood out. They were gazing upon him with concern.

Jon closed the shades in his hand and swallowed. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

“Oh no, did you hit your head?” she asked and waved a hand in front of him as if to check his eyes.

Jon shook his head.

“Please say something,” she begged, “You are scaring me.”

“I’m okay,” Jon finally managed to say, although his voice was more faint than intended. He cleared his throat and repeated, “I’m good,” before accepting her outstretched hand. It was soft, he noted, as she helped him back up standing.

“You sure you’re okay?” she repeated her question, concern still filling her eyes, and Jon almost felt embarrassed by her worry.

“I’m fine,” he promised and corrected his leather jacket. He was suddenly very aware of how dirty he looked and casually tried to brush the dirt off his jeans. “No need to apologise.”

“Apologise?” she said, and it was as if a switch turned in her head. All concern seemed to leave her eyes. “No, I don’t think so. You ought to apologise to me.”

“Me?” Jon blinked.

“That’s what I said,” she nodded and tapped her finger at his chest. She looked up at him with a brow raised. “Crossing the road whilst looking at your phone? I thought that was something only teenagers did.”

“I wasn’t looking at my phone,” Jon protested, but, as if on cue, they both turned to look at his mobile on the ground, the screen still lit up. Jon quickly grabbed it and turned it over, ensuring there were no cracks. “I was just… _glancing_.”

“I could’ve been hurt.”

“Well, were you?”

“No. But I could’ve been.”

Jon stuffed the mobile in the pocket of his jeans as he hesitated. She was right, he realised, however much it annoyed him. So he finally nodded and averted her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling a bit like a scolded child.

“ _Thank you_ ,” she smiled, then bent down to pick up one of the flowers that had come loose - a single pink dragonsnap. “These are my favourite,” she said.

“Oh shi-” Jon looked around at the flowers, spread all over the road like confetti. He took in a deep breath and groaned in frustration. “I only just got them.”

“Let’s salvage what we can,” she said and handed him the dragonsnap.

Jon accepted it with a grateful smile.

* * *

It took them a few minutes, but soon most of the bouquet was recovered. It wasn’t as pretty, naturally, but besides a few broken stems, some lost petals and a squashed lily left beneath the bicycle, it was almost (key word _almost_ , Jon noted) as new. Jon watched as the girl tied the stems together with the ribbon, making a perfect bow before holding out the bunch to admire her work. “Done!”

“Looks good,” Jon said.

They were seated on the curb, their legs stretched out in front of them onto the bicycle path. Whilst she had fiddled with the flowers, Jon had tended his scrapes and picked out the stones from the wound. It hurt, but he tried to play it off as she smiled at him.

“I think we did well,” she said.

“Certainly did,” Jon agreed, “thanks, uh…” He grabbed the flowers and rested them in his lap as his tongue hesitated, looking for a name but having none to speak.

The girl tilted her head a little and offered, “Daenerys.”

“Daenerys,” Jon spoke, the name foreign to him. “I’m Jon.”

“Nice to meet you, Jon,” she said, “although I’d preferred it to be different.”

“What, you don’t like men jumping in front of you for attention?”

“I don’t like men seeking attention, full stop,” she challenged.

There was a twinkle to her eyes as she spoke, Jon saw, and he watched her as she tucked a loose braid back into her updo. “I haven’t seen you around before,” Jon said, only realising too late what a lame pick-up line that sounded like. “I mean, I know most people in town.” _Even worse_ , he thought. “I mean, I’m sure I would remember if I’d seen you.” _Strike three, I’m out._

Daenerys smiled mercifully and, as she couldn’t just sit watching him dig himself deeper into a hole, agreed: “I am new. Just moved here last week.”

“Well, welcome to Winterfell,” he said and gestured around the empty street.

“Yeah, thanks,” she said, “seems like a downright riot here.”

“Why anyone would move here is beyond me,” Jon admitted as they got up. He helped Daenerys pick up her bike and dusted some dirt off the seat. “It’s a dying town I’m afraid.”

“You’re really selling the place.”

“Sorry,” Jon mumbled.

Daenerys shrugged as she took a hold of the handlebars and pulled her bike around to face downhill. As she turned, her blue dress lightly fluttered in the breeze. “I’ve lived in a city before. It’s hard to make a change. So I thought I’d start small.”

“You sound like a politician,” Jon laughed but stopped at the look she gave him.

Daenerys wrinkled her brows. “You make that sound bad.”

“Politics killed the town, moved all the jobs out. Of course it’s bad.”

“I work for the town hall,” she said, a certain air of self importance to her voice.

“Oh, as an official?” Jon queried.

Daenerys' cheeks reddened and the self importance in her voice seemed to blow away with the breeze. “Well, not yet,” she said.

This time Jon raised his brows. “So you’re _not_ in politics?”

“I suppose I’m a sort of administrator.”

“So a paper-pusher.”

“A clerk,” Daenerys corrected him. As she noted his smile, she got up onto her bike. “Alright, _Jon_ ,” she said, “you can laugh now, but in time I’ll be deciding your taxes.”

“I hope you stop by to claim them in person, then.”

Daenerys’ cheeks reddened even more. She pulled a braid loose to cover them, but Jon had already seen it. Her gaze fell to his bouquet. “Well, I suppose someone’s waiting for those,” she said and, before Jon could say anything further, she stepped onto the pedals and pushed herself forward. The wheels started spinning as she rolled downhill. “Nice to meet you, Jon!” she called over her shoulder.

“Good luck saving the world!” he called back with a grin. He stood watching as she disappeared into the distance, her blue dress fluttering behind her. He then turned the bouquet in his hands and sighed. “Now I’m late.”

* * *

It was quiet. The sun had managed to push its way through the leaves of the old weirwood, and the earth felt warm. Jon leaned down and placed the bouquet on the soil where the sun shone the brightest, then stepped back to admire the plaque that read: “UNKNOWN.”

“Hi Mum,” he said and popped his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He glanced around the graveyard before looking back down at the bouquet. “Sorry I am late. I had an… accident.” He smiled a little and kicked the dirt by his feet. “I bumped into a very pretty girl. She had a certain fire burning in her. Never had someone talk back to me like that - I’m sure you would’ve liked to hear it. Our little talk was the best part of my week, can you believe? Everything’s gone wrong. It started Monday-”

And just like that, Jon stood talking at the grave of the unknown as he did every Saturday, believing that perhaps among the spirits of the dead his mum too would listen in. But even then, as he recounted his week, his mind wandered back to Daenerys’ face as he first saw her, lit up and covered in pink petals, and he realised: _I have to meet her again_.


	2. First disagreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and comments! It all inspired me to write quickly and get this chapter done in a few hours. I hope you'll enjoy!

Jon had barely had a drag of his cigarette before a group of lads approached the pub. He grimaced and let the smoke slowly seep from the corners of his lips before snubbing out the cigarette against the wall. He didn’t need a second look to know who they were - their faces were instantly recognisable.

As they neared the entrance, he stepped out in front of them and rested his hands behind his back. “No ID, no entrance,” he spoke calmly.

The leader of the group, Ramsay, gave him a wicked smile as he leaned in close. “Piss of, Jon, you know we’re old enough.”

“No ID, no entrance,” Jon repeated, staring at a point above the guy’s head.

Ramsay looked around as if to determine what Jon was looking at but, finding nothing, turned back to face him. “Do you know who I am?” he asked.

Jon finally gazed at his face. He tried to place his own in neutral folds not to give anything away, but it was difficult with him being this close. _Yes_ , he thought to himself, _I know who you are, asshole._ But he professionally replied: “Of course, Mr Bolton, I know you.”

Ramsay’s smile deepened. “Okay then - so?” He gestured at the entrance behind Jon.

This time, Jon was the one to smile as he pushed himself up as tall as he could manage and looked him straight in the eyes. “So,” he said, “ _no ID, no entrance_.”

“Man, this is _bull!_ ” one of the guys shouted, a golden haired lad. Jon recognised him too. _Joffrey_. “I say we beat him up!”

“Joff, man, I like you, _as a mate_ ,” Ramsay was quick to clarify, “but you couldn’t beat up a corpse if you tried.”

Joffrey flushed and snapped his mouth shut.

Jon felt his patience wearing thin. His fingertips trembled for another smoke. “Come on, guys,” he said, “we have the same argument every Saturday. I ask for your IDs. You complain. Then you fight amongst yourselves. Finally, one of you give in and soon the rest follow. Let’s just cut out the filler and get to the end - _IDs please_.” He held out his hand and raised a brow, and Ramsay rolled his eyes with a sigh.

“Fine,” he said, handing over his license for Jon to inspect. “I just don’t get why you have to see them when you know us.”

“Just following procedure,” Jon assured.

“I suppose being his height, he’s got to take any opportunity to feel tall,” Joffrey huffed, making the group laugh.

The smile returned to Ramsay’s face as he snatched back his ID. “Is that true, Jon? Feeling a bit _down_ tonight?”

“Feeling overlooked?” Joffrey offered as he passed Jon by on his way in.

As the group entered, everyone offered their own stand-up line: “Don’t _stoop so low,_ Jon.”

“Yeah, I thought you were _down to earth_.”

“One day you might make the _shortlist_.”

Jon felt his face slowly twist into a scowl. As the last guy had entered, he pulled out another cigarette and lit it with a frown. “It’s not worth worrying about,” he reminded himself as he filled his lungs, then slowly breathed out toward the sky. “Not worth it…”

It was a clear summer night. Darkness had only just started to fall now around eleven pm, and stars were appearing in the sky. Jon challenged himself to name as many constellations as he could but, failing to name a single one, soon resorted to counting the stars, starting over every time he lost count. Ever so often, his mind would wander, and all he could think was, _I hate this stupid job and this stupid town._

Winterfell didn’t really need a bouncer. Truly, he was more of a formality. Local law required someone to stand guard at any place serving alcohol past ten, and in a way it was lucky - Jon needed a job, and drinking youngsters kept the cash flowing. But it wasn’t the job he’d imagined for himself. It certainly wasn’t one he hoped to keep until retirement.

However, the town was slowly dying. If he didn’t figure out some plans quickly, this could very well be his only work opportunity in a few years. The thought alone sent shivers down his back. _I am not going to be buried here next to the grave of the unknown_ , he thought.

“That’s a bad habit,” someone said.

Jon blinked and turned, and immediately felt the scowl on his face melt into a smile. “Daenerys,” he greeted.

Truly, it was her. She approached him from beneath the streetlight, a light smile lingering on her lips. She was just as he remembered from last week, with her silver hair placed in intricate braids around her head, held together by golden pins. She was wearing a golden jumpsuit and heels. He felt his eyes slip down her body before catching himself doing so and he focused on the ground instead, as if something _very_ interesting had caught his attention.

“Jon,” she returned his greeting. Before he had the chance to look up, the smoke was snatched from between his lips. Daenerys held it with two fingers, as if it was some piece of dirt she had picked off the street. “These cause cancer, you know.”

“I know,” he nodded, “that’s the point.”

“Surely you’re kidding.”

“Of course I am. I just like the taste.” He held out his hand and she hesitantly handed it back to him. “We all have our guilty pleasures,” he defended himself as his lips wrapped around the filter.

“Nothing guilty about me,” Daenerys said.

“Well, are you a pleasure?” Jon asked and felt satisfied as he saw her blush. Even in the dim light from the street, it was obvious.

“I mean, I have no guilty pleasures,” she clarified.

“Is that so?” Jon pondered as he watched her from the corners of his eyes.

Daenerys looked him up and down. “You work here?”

“Bouncer,” he explained, pulling at his black shirt.

“Ah,” she said, “I thought maybe the all black look was just a stylistic choice.”

Jon wasn’t sure how to take her comment. He decided to ignore it instead and puffed his chest up a little as he glanced around. He tried to appear busy. It was difficult with no one else approaching the place.

“So, how have you been?” Daenerys asked. “It’s been, what, a week since we met?”

“Been good,” Jon replied curtly, still trying to appear engaged. He was watching her from the corners of his eyes, enjoying how curious she seemed. He was also enjoying the way the fabric of her jumpsuit fell around her chest and down her narrow waist. Not that he was ever going to say it out loud.

“And you lady friend, how is she?” Daenerys asked.

Jon blinked and looked at her confused. “Lady friend?”

“I mean, unless the flowers were for a male friend?” she asked innocently.

Jon flushed. “Oh, no she is fine,” he said, watching Daenerys nod slowly. Realising how his words could be understood, he quickly explained: “I mean, they weren’t for any lady. I mean, they were for a _lady_ but not a friend. I mean, she is a friend but not a _lady friend_.”

The more he spoke, the more he could tell confusion filling Daenerys’ face. She cocked her head to one side, then the other as he blabbered, clearly trying to follow his stream of words.

“I mean,” he finally sighed, feeling his face going warm, “they were for my _mum_.” The coolness had completely left him, he realised, and he sadly watched the ground as she flashed him a brilliant smile.

“That’s sweet,” she said. “I hope she liked them.” She glanced toward the entrance and then back at him. “So, Mr Bouncer, do I need to show you my ID?”

“Wait, you’re heading in there?”

Daenerys gestured down herself. “What else is this outfit for?”

“Oh, boy, you’re _not_ dressed for this place,” Jon said. Again, realising his words, he bit his tongue and slowly explained: “This place is so common, so… _basic_ ,” he said, “Very _local_. I am not sure you’d like it.”

Daenerys wrinkled her nose. “I suppose I’ll make that decision.”

“I suppose,” Jon spoke, surprise still in his voice. He dropped his smoke to the street and stepped on it to kill the smoke. “Yeah, let me see your ID.”

Daenerys watched his feet as she handed him her ID. He flicked it over and read her date of birth, slowly, calculating in his head that she was exactly twenty six years and seven months old. _About the same as me_ , he thought with a certain glee. He also shortly glanced at her address. Not one he recognised, although he knew the neighbourhood. _Nice area_.

“All looks good,” he said and handed it back.

“Thank you, _Mr Bouncer_ ,” she repeated teasingly but made no attempt to move. As she stood looking at the ground, he felt a smile creep upon his lips.

 _Perhaps she is shy_ , he realised, _Perhaps she’s worried walking in there alone, after all I’ve said. Perhaps she wants me to follow her. Perhaps-_

“Perhaps you should stop littering before someone fines you,” Daenerys said, pointing at his shoe.

Jon slowly lifted his boot, looking at the cigarette butt still on the ground, and he blushed a little. “Uh, sure,” he mumbled, but Daenerys had already floundered past him inside.

 _She’s cheeky_ , he thought as he plucked the smoke from the ground and tossed it into the nearest bin. _Where in the world did she come from?_

* * *

As the sun rose and Jon’s shift ended, he realised that Daenerys had yet to emerge from the pub.

Jon sat on the steps to the place, smoking yet another cigarette, as he watched the first cabs driving up the main lane, stopping now and again to pick up a drunk couple heading home. _I hope she is okay_ , he thought, although he knew it was silly. What bad could happen in Winterfell, really? Everyone knew everyone. If someone was up to something, someone else would’ve known already. It was a blessing and a curse.

 _After all,_ he thought, _the only people who ever get up to anything are way too dickish to last in a conversation with her_. Satisfied with his thought, he got up to leave, only to stop a few steps down the road as the door swung open and a laughing Daenerys stepped outside.

She wasn’t alone, he noted with surprise. On her right was Ramsay, laughing just as much, and on her left was Joffrey, smiling like a puppy shown love for the first time. If he had a tail, it would be wagging. Jon felt like gagging.

“Oh, guys, thanks for a great night!” Daenerys said as they bid their farewell, “I had a lot of fun!”

“Me too,” Ramsay said.

“Sleep tight, Miss Future Mayor,” Joffrey added, making Jon want to gag even harder, but it seemed to cheer up Daenerys.

“Night!” she called to them as they made their way around the corner. She turned to wave at a taxi, but managed to catch Jon’s eyes instead. A drunken smile fell on her lips. “Jon! You’re still here?”

Jon popped his hands into the pockets of his trousers and waited until she caught up with him. Her legs were shaking a bit, and her heels seemed to get stuck in between the stones of the street. “Hey,” he nodded, trying to play cool but had to quickly reach out as she almost tipped over in front of him. “Oh, wow, hold on!”

“Sorry,” Daenerys blushed whilst still laughing. She let him help her stand up, her hands holding onto his arm. “I never expected Winterfell to be such a fun town!”

“Well, you should watch who you hang around,” Jon warned.

Daenerys' smile faded slowly as she watched his face. “Sorry, I cannot tell if you joke,” she said.

“That Ramsay and Joffrey? They’re, like, _the worst_.”

“Well, maybe you’re, like, the _judgemental_ ,” Daenerys copied him and rolled her eyes.

Jon felt his throat clench and he gritted his teeth together in a grimace. “Honestly, Daenerys, I’ve known these guys most of my life. They’re up to no good.”

“And I don’t believe in judging based on second hand beliefs,” Daenerys retorted. “Thanks for the advice, Jon, but I am perfectly capable of forming my own opinions on people.”

“I am sure,” he said, letting go of her arm.

She wobbled to a halt. “Yes, so am I.”

They stood looking at each other for a few silent seconds. Then Jon shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, “it’s none of my business, really.”

“You’re right,” she said, “it isn’t.”

A few more seconds followed.

“So, what’s your opinion of me?” Jon asked.

Daenerys opened her mouth to speak, but she then hesitated. It clearly wasn’t the question she had anticipated, so she had to give it a thought. “I,” she said, then paused, “I don’t know. I haven’t known you long enough.”

Jon nodded, looking at his boots. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“What’s your opinion of me?” she returned the question.

Jon looked at her. There she stood, flushed from alcohol, with the morning’s cold light shining on her pale face, and she seemed to barely be able to keep herself awake as she kept fluttering her eyelashes. And even though he was annoyed, having seen her exit the pub with the two most infuriating lads he knew, he couldn’t blame her for her stubbornness. If Ramsay had been in his position, talking shit about _him_ , he too would have hoped she would give him a chance and not hate him based on Ramsay's _nonsense_ judgement.

“My opinion is,” he said, choosing his words with care. He repeated: “My opinion is… that we need to have a date.”

Daenerys let out a loud laugh. “A date!”

“Yes,” Jon nodded. “A date. So we can get to know each other.”

“As friends or as… dates? No, wait, that’s the fruit, isn’t it? What do you call it? _Potential lovers?_ No, that sounds wrong too.” Daenerys wrinkled her brows as she seemed to consider the word carefully, and Jon couldn’t help but smile.

“As whatever you want it to be,” he said. He waved down a cab and, before she knew of it, had the door open and offered his hand to help her inside. “Get home, think about it,” he said.

“How will I let you know?” she asked. She started searching her pockets for her phone, but Jon held up his hand to stop her.

“Go home, sleep, sober up. If you’re still interested, then meet me,” he looked around and then pointed to a lamp post close to them, “then meet me at the corner, that corner, on Thursday. Five o’clock okay?”

Daenerys looked at the lamp post with serious eyes, as if she tried to imprint the image of the place into her mind. “Corner. Thursday. Five.” She gave him a thumbs up. “Deal.”

He gave her a thumbs up too. “Deal,” he smiled and closed the door.

As he watched the cab take off down the street, he took in a deep breath, lifted his fisted hands into the air, and shouted: “I’ve done it!”

“Shut up!” someone shouted from a nearby flat, “We’re trying to sleep!”

“Sorry!” Jon shouted back, but the joy in his voice was unsuppressed.

 _I have a date_ , he thought. _I have a date, I have a date, I have a date. And it’s with the prettiest girl in town._


	3. First rejection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments! I can't explain how much they mean to me, they really keep me going, so thank you to all of you who took the time to read, to leave a kudos, or to leave a comment. I truly appreciate it! I have good things planned for the next chapter, so please stick around and let me know what you think!

As Jon returned home, he withdrew his keys to unlock the flat - only to find his front door left ajar. Peering through the crack into the darkness of the hallway, he thought, _This is not good._

Truly, he didn’t live in Winterfell’s best neighbourhood. Graffiti and youngsters ruled the streets at night, only retrieving when the sun rose to welcome the beggars at dawn. But he had never had any trouble with burglars. _But there’s a first for everything, I suppose_.

Jon reached over and pushed the handle, slowly, as not to cause the door to creak. As it crept open, revealing more of the dark hallway to him, he immediately noted the mess; the rug was flipped over, his shoes had been thrown everywhere, and the mirror on the wall was hanging askew. Then there was the sound - like a low grumbling. It was deep, like the growl of a wolf.

The thought alone made Jon grit his teeth as he thought of his dog, Ghost. If only he were there and not stuck with his sister Sansa. _I should never have let her borrow him for the weekend,_ he thought, but done was done. He was alone. It was him versus… whatever had managed to push its way into his flat.

Jon stepped over the threshold and searched the floor for anything useful. Finding nothing else, he grabbed a hold of a long umbrella. Holding it up like a baseball bat, he started making his way down the hallway.

First, to his left, the bathroom. He quickly peered in and, seeing nothing, made his way further to the next door - kitchen. Again, nothing, although his gaze fell upon his knife block. He couldn’t be sure in the dark, but he thought a blade was missing. _Shit_.

Something stirred to his right. Jon turned on his heels, feeling his heartbeat speed up. He was facing the living room and surely there, in the corner, something was moving. He swallowed, trying to remember all his lessons before becoming a bouncer. _Funny_ , he thought, although he wasn’t about to laugh, _In all those years, this is the only time I’ve had to remember my training_. Even better - he didn’t remember a _single thing_.

As the person rose, Jon shouted: “Don’t move!”

There was a click. Jon’s eyes narrowed as the room flooded with light from the lamp being switched on. As he blinked, he managed to focus on the guy in the sofa, and his heart dropped.

“ _Sam?_ ”

Sam gave him a hesitant smile and a wave. “Hi, Jon.”

Jon sighed as he threw the umbrella to the ground and ran his fingers through his hair. “Come on!” he shouted. “I thought you were some sort of thief!”

“Sorry,” Sam said, still looking hesitant.

Jon shook his head as he started making his way toward him. The living room was a bit roughed up too, he noted, with furniture having been moved about.

Before he could say anything, Sam started stammering: “Look, I know I come by a lot-”

“You should start paying me rent,” Jon commented.

“-but this time is for good. Gilly has really thrown me out!” Sam nodded furiously, as if to put his point across, and Jon sunk down to sit next to him.

He rubbed his forehead and furrowed his brows. “You say the same thing every week.”

“Well, this time it’s for good. She really has thrown me out.”

“So you decided to take it out on my hallway?”

“Oh no, that…” Sam smiled shyly. “I couldn’t find the light-switch. Sorry. I bumped around a bit.”

“ _A bit?_ I thought a burglar had broken in.” Jon gave him an incredulous look. “How did you even get in?”

“Well, your landlady was here, knocking on your door. I said, Jon, I said, he is out. Working. And she said that you better be, because you owe her money. So I said, owe you money? And she said-”

“Sam, I’ve been working all night. Just the summary, please?”

Sam sighed and shrugged. “Well, I paid your arrears and she let me in.”

Jon also sighed, leaning back into the pillows of his couch. “Sam,” he said, shaking his head, “sometimes I don’t know whether to thank you or punch you.”

“How about calling it even?”

Jon gave him a slight smile. “Fine, even sounds good.”

 _In a way, I shouldn’t be surprised_ , Jon thought as Sam started explaining his newest relationship issues. His eyes slipped to the coffee table and the sandwich laying there, half-eaten, with his kitchen knife next to a pile of crust. _I should be surprised this hasn’t happened before_.

It was almost like a weekly tradition. Sam would come, promising that this time it was for real, this time his relationship would not last, and then he would spend a few nights before getting a call from Gilly, confirming he was allowed home. Happy, he would leave, only to return a few days later. Again and again, rinse and repeat. It had almost put Jon off relationships.

 _Almost_.

“So, I think that is it,” Sam said, finishing his story. He reached over and picked a piece of crust off the table, inspected it, and then popped it in his mouth. “I’d really, _really_ appreciate if-”

“Just sleep on the sofa,” Jon said.

Sam gave a grateful nod and swallowed. “How’s work treating you?” he asked.

“Same old,” Jon shrugged, before a smile came to his lips. He couldn’t hide it, even if he lifted his hand to quickly cover it with his knuckles.

Sam had caught on and leaned in closer. “Jon, what happened?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“I’ve known you for years. Don’t give me that.”

Jon looked at him and slowly lowered his hand, revealing a full on smile. “Well, I think I might have met someone.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Wait,” he said, “Jon Snow, known for being a lone wolf, has _met someone_?” Jon tried to play it off with a shrug, but Sam persisted: “What’s she like? What’s she look like? Do you have a name?”

“Of course I have a name,” Jon huffed. “Daenerys. Isn’t that something else?”

Sam blinked. “Oh, the silver haired girl?” he asked.

Jon raised his brows and turned toward him. “You _know_ her?”

“Well, a little,” Sam said and scratched his neck. “You see, we went to the town hall, Gilly and I.”

“That’s where she works,” Jon nodded eagerly.

“We needed some relationship advice-”

“From the town hall?”

“-and she greeted us,” Sam said, not taking notice of Jon’s interruptions. “She was very kind, giving us all the right information and pointing us in the right direction. She’s a good secretary, that’s for certain!”

 _I thought she said she was an administrator,_ Jon pondered, but pushed the thought aside as he leaned closer to Sam. “What did you think of her?”

“As said, a very knowledgeable secretary!”

“I mean, how did she come across? Her personality, her looks?”

“Well, Gilly thought she was awfully keen. She said, some women just don’t know how to cover themselves.” Sam snapped his lips shut as if only just now realising what his fiancee was suggesting. “She seems lovely,” he finally said.

Jon fiddled with the hem of his shirt as he started undoing the buttons. “We’re going on a date,” he said.

“Oh, that’s lovely. What do you think you’ll do?”

“I’ll figure it out,” Jon said as he got up from the sofa. He shrugged off his shirt as he glanced outside toward the rising sun. _My shift ends, the day begins, and I’m heading to bed_ , he thought. _Daenerys, where will you be heading?_ “Well, goodnight Sam.”

“Night Jon,” Sam said and turned off the lamp. He slipped back into the sofa, his feet propped up onto the armrest, as he watched Jon go. Before he left, he called: “Jon?”

Jon turned in the doorway to look at him, shirt crumbled in hand. “Yeah?”

“I think it’s good,” he said, a smile on his lips, “that you are seeing someone again. After all this time…”

Jon smiled a slow smile. “I think so too. Thanks, Sam,” he said, then closed the door to the living room. _I think so too._

* * *

In his dreams, there were fires. Screaming. _From dust we came_ , a man spoke, _and to dust you will return_.

White doves, hundreds, thousands. The sky clear. Then dark. Then dark. Then dark. Black, a colour deeper than the universe itself, empty.

He was falling.

Then he was no more. Just covered in white, in the vastness of nothingness.

* * *

Awake, Jon shrugged off his nightmares, only one face in mind: Daenerys’.

The florist spent her time picking out the right flowers, her gaze darting back to Jon’s face every time she picked a new one, either gaining a nod of approval or a shake of his head. Dragonsnaps filled the bouquet. Greens. White foxgloves, shivering like bells in the wind. She wrapped them all up with a ribbon, this one thick and red.

“You’re more picky than usual,” she commented. “Special occasion?”

“In a way,” he said, swiping his card.

“Well,” she said, presenting the finished bouquet to him, “I hope whoever she is that she will make you happy.” She gave him a graceful smile which Jon returned as he accepted the flowers.

“I know she will,” he said with confidence before leaving the shop.

Thursday. He had been counting down, every day asking himself; _why Thursday?_ It seemed so far away from Saturday. Monday he was ready. Tuesday he was growing impatient. Wednesday had been a downright struggle, her face constantly appearing in the crowd around him yet, when he took a second look, it was never her.

But today was Thursday, he reminded himself as he strolled down the street, the bouquet by his side. He lifted it to have a sniff, the sweet fragrance filling his nostrils. _And today will be a good day_.

He had spent a long time deciding on the right outfit. Sam had been his main critic. It was odd, he’d found, picking clothes to impress. He normally wore what he fancied, not what others might. Sam pointed out that it was a big mistake to think that Daenerys wouldn’t care.

“Women want fashion,” he’d said, flicking through Jon’s selection of worn tees and button ups which were all black. “ _Where’s your fashion sense?_ ”

“Sam, with all due respect - look in the mirror.”

“Right, but I’m _engaged_ , that means I’m _off the market_ , so I don’t have to try.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re having relationship issues.”

“Ha-ha,” Sam laughed sarcastically, but Jon had noted some hurt in his eyes, so he let him continue his critique, picking out whatever outfit he’d seen fit.

As such, Jon found himself in a pair of tight grey jeans, a white shirt with thin black stripes, and brown shoes.

Without his leather jacket, he felt naked, and he kept reaching for it as he stood beneath the lamppost. Perhaps he should have agreed to Sam’s suggestion of wearing a suit jacket, but then again he didn’t want to look _too_ done up. What if Daenerys just showed in jeans and a tee? He didn’t want to look silly next to her. Or worse, have her feel silly.

As the clock neared five, Jon felt himself starting to sweat. It wasn’t particularly warm, but perhaps it was caused by his racing mind. Pictures flickered across his eyes, images of WikiHow articles on how to behave on a date, and videos of how to properly eat at a restaurant, and Sam’s speech on how to properly walk a lady to her home.

 _All nonsense,_ he knew this of course. But he still dwelt on this vast amount of information which he had consumed the past few days. _Just in case_. He had been off the dating market for a while, perfectly content with living in his flat with Ghost and his occasional tenant Sam. But time moved on. So did people, and he had no idea what was expected these days.

Let alone if being late was commonplace. He glanced at his phone.

Fifteen minutes past. Perhaps this was her way of showing him how cool and collected she was. Like a celebrity who shows up late for their own show, just to cause excitement.

Twenty minutes past. Perhaps he had the wrong lamppost? Jon looked around. No, only one lamppost this close to the pub. But maybe she had forgotten that?

Half past. People had started heading to the pub, throwing him glances as they entered for their drinks. One of them was Joffrey. “Waiting for prom to happen?” he shouted with a grin. Jon just scowled and lit a smoke, trying to calm his shaking nerves.

 _Six o’clock_.

The lamppost above him lit up. Then, the next one too. Then the next one. Soon, the street was bathed in light from above. Jon snubbed out his third smoke of the hour as he turned on his heels and headed down the street, opposite direction of where he had come. _She will not come,_ he realised, but it hurt even thinking the words. _I said, meet me if you’re interested. And she has decided that I am not. I am not even worth rejecting._ He kicked a stone, watching it jump into the road and being run over. _I hate this stupid town._

As he turned the next corner, he dumped the bouquet into a bin, popped his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and set off for home. Alone.


	4. First make up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely comments! Sorry it took so long to get another chapter out. I have been doing a lot of Jonerys work with DragonandDirewolf and has just not had the time for these chaptered fics. But not forgotten! Hope you will enjoy this, even if it is slightly on the shorter side. I have something fun planned next, so hoping to get writing soon again.

“Thank you _so much_ for letting me borrow Ghost. Running with him has put me in tip-top shape!”

Jon watched as his sister Sansa jogged on the spot, not stopping once to catch her breath as she spoke to him. Her long, red hair was bouncing around her shoulders, and her cheeks were turning just as bright. “No problem,” he said, “but shouldn’t you rest before the run?”

Sansa shook her head. “You’re meant to exercise to warm the muscles.”

“Exercise _before_ exercise?” Jon repeated incredulous.

“You should try it.”

“I’ll do fine without.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed, her eyes travelling down Jon’s body.

He shivered at her scrutiny and hugged himself, turning to glance around them instead.

The main street of Winterfell had been decorated in pink balloons and banners. Everywhere he looked, he saw slogans about beating cancer; _Cure Breast Cancer Now_ , read one sign, _Support The Ladies_ , urged another. It was Sunday, and the annual charity run had brought everyone in town out on the street to either participate or cheer on the runners. Wherever he looked, people were smiling and looking excited, but Sansa was especially gleeful. It was after all _she_ who had started the event five years before.

Hence why Jon had no choice but to stand in a pink top with a cruel pair of breasts drawn onto it, courtesy of the race. _Or rather, courtesy of Sansa_ , Jon thought as he turned back to look at her. She finally stopped jogging, but instead started swinging her arms around and stretching her legs.

He grimaced and reached into his pocket for a smoke, but had barely placed the cigarette between his lips before Sansa caught sight of him.

“Jon, you can’t smoke _here_ ,” she scolded him. “We are running for _cancer_.”

“ _Breast_ cancer,” Jon reminded her. “I haven’t got any of those.”

“But I do,” she said and snatched the cigarette from his lips. She handed it to him with a scowl. “Please behave. You’re not just representing yourself, you know. Everyone knows we’re family. Whatever you do-”

“-will come back to you. I know. Sorry,” Jon spoke. He took the cigarette and popped it back into the pocket of his shorts. Still, his fingertips tingled for a smoke. He fiddled with his top to keep himself busy as he looked around. “Where’s Ghost now?”

“Arya’s got him. She’ll meet you afterwards.”

“What, we’re not in the same group?”

Sansa shook her head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Jon, I couldn’t justify keeping you in the start of the race. Not after-” She shrugged and didn’t bother to finish the sentence, but Jon knew what she meant.

Every year, Sansa had made sure the whole family ran together at the front of the line. The first year, it had made for a great picture as they all crossed the finishing line together. The second year, it had made a less great photo as Jon fell halfway through the race and faced the local paper with blood running down his face. The third year- well, _no one_ mentions the third year any longer. _Especially not Ramsay,_ Jon thought with a satisfied smile. It had been a bad year for Sansa, but a _great_ year for fistfighting.

And then last year, the fourth year, he didn’t finish the race at all. It wasn’t that he was in a poor shape. As a matter of fact, the only way he could keep his job as bouncer was by staying fit. That was the minimum requirement - look like you can throw a decent punch. But things had taken a bad turn halfway through the race. Jon preferred not to dwell on it, and he could tell Sansa did too, so he gently said:

“Not to worry. I’ll run by myself.”

“Not by yourself,” Sansa shook her head and gestured for him to follow as they made their way to the starting line, “I’ve made sure you’re in a good group with a friend of mine.”

“Alright,” Jon said, “what’s his name?” But before she could answer, he knew. The moment they reached the other runners, he caught their eyes. Not a he-friend but a she-friend. _Daenerys._

Daenerys was wearing black leggings and a black tee, and her silver hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. As she turned to look at him, it swung around and landed perfectly over her shoulder. “Jon,” she said surprised, but a smile broke out on her lips.

“Oh, you know each other?” Sansa asked.

As Jon just shrugged, Daenerys took it upon herself to reply: “Yes, we’ve met. I’m glad to see you again.”

 _She says it with such an honest smile_ , Jon thought, feeling slightly uncomfortable as Daenerys and Sansa both eyed him, awaiting his reply. _It is almost like she has no clue what she’s done._ As they kept watching him, Jon felt pressured to reply, so he let out a simple, “Uh-huh,” despite knowing very well it wasn’t a very satisfying answer.

Sansa raised her brows at him, but continued on: “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. I’m up now - see you later!”

“Bye!” Daenerys waved as Sansa took off to the front of the groups. She then glanced back at Jon, rubbing her arm slowly. “So…” she spoke.

“So,” Jon repeated. He averted her eyes as he glanced down at his shoes. To please Sansa, he had invested in a brand new pair. Now, rejected to the back of the race, he just felt silly wearing them. As if he was trying to prove himself to be someone. He wondered if Daenerys thought the same as her gaze slipped to his feet.

“So, about Thursday,” she started, but Jon shook his head.

“You don’t have to explain,” he said, “I get it.”

“The way you’re moping I don’t think you do.”

“ _Moping?_ ” Jon scowled at her. “You _rejected_ me. Of course that hurts.”

“I didn’t _reject_ you,” Daenerys denied, “I just-”

“Just?”

“- _forgot._ ”

It wasn’t the excuse Jon had expected, and for a moment he was at a loss for words as he stared at her. As he battled between being insulted and breaking out in a laugh, Daenerys started fiddling with her ponytail, her cheeks reddening.

“I know, it sounds so bad,” she admitted, “but I was really drunk that night, and quite honestly I am surprised you expected me to remember.”

“So you forgot we were meant to meet?”

“Oh no, I remembered that,” she spoke, causing Jon’s brows to furrow in further confusion.

“I really don’t-” As he started speaking, the sound of a whistle suddenly cut through the air. He stretched his neck and caught a glimpse of the first group of runners taking off. In front, Sansa, Arya and Ghost. “I really don’t understand,” he finally finished the sentence. “You remembered, but you forgot? How does that even work?”

“Well, I remembered when I woke up, but then I was so busy I forgot.”

“I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

“Jon, my work is _hectic_. I barely get a chance to breathe myself!”

“So you were working for the council at half past six in the evening?”

This time, it was Daenerys who furrowed her brows. “Half past six? I thought we agreed to meet at five?”

Jon couldn’t help but smile. “So you _do_ remember.”

The second whistle. The runners in front of them took off. Jon and Daenerys slowly started making their way to the start line side by side.

“My work doesn’t stop when my job does,” Daenerys said. “Remember, I want to get into politics. That’s _never ending_. A good politician never stops working.”

“I’ve never seen a politician who did work,” Jon replied.

Daenerys smiled wryly. “I did say a _good_ one.” She sighed: “Look, Jon, I am sorry I didn’t show. Really, I am. But trust me when I say I had a good reason. Someone needed me.”

Jon watched his new shoes again. “I trust you,” he finally said. It slipped so easily from his lips. _Of course I trust you,_ he thought, although he wasn’t sure why. Something in him just told him she wouldn’t lie to him.

“Thank you,” she said. She prepared herself at the start line, one foot ahead of the other, and her gaze darted between Jon’s face and the lady with the whistle. “I am glad you understand, despite not liking Ramsay so much.”

All sound seemed to disappear for a moment. Jon didn’t hear the whistle. He didn’t hear the dust being kicked about as the runners started around him, nor their grunts and moans of annoyance as he stood still at the start line. “Ramsay?” he repeated in a mumble.

Daenerys too had started running, but she stopped a bit ahead as she realised Jon wasn’t following. “Jon?” she called.

By the time Jon registered his own name, the runners had all left. They were the last two left.

“Jon?” Daenerys said again, this time sounding concerned. She turned on her heels as she slowly walked back to him.

“You were with him all night?” Jon asked.

Daenerys sighed and hugged herself as she stopped in front of him. “Look, you guys clearly have some history-”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I want to be in politics.”

“You just said. But you also said you wanted to be a _good_ politician. Trust me, there is nothing good about him.”

“How do you know?”

Jon shook his head in awe. “I know because I’ve lived here my whole life. I know him.”

“You do?” Daenerys cocked her head to the side. “Then where were you when he was about to become homeless?”

Jon crinkled his nose. “Homeless? His dad’s rich.”

“And yet last Thursday, his dad was ready to kick him out of the house.”

“Considering all he’s done, I’m not surprised.”

“Considering you’ve supposedly known him all your life, _I_ am surprised,” Daenerys replied. “Look, the guy’s a dick. No doubt about it. He showed me around the estate, asked if I liked the kitchen, and when I agreed it was lovely, he proposed I stay and cook him some food. As said, he’s a _dick_.”

Jon blinked. “So why bother?”

“Because as a politician, you can’t just listen to the people you like. You either end up blinded, or corrupt, or stupid. Or all three at once.” Daenerys gestured around her toward the people on the street, and Jon looked. He looked at the elderly couple on the bench, sharing a bag of peanuts, and the kids trying to climb the lampposts to grab a balloon, and the suited man who had donned a bra for the event. He was fiddling with the lace, trying to make the cups line up. “Look, even in Winterfell you have so many different folks. If I am to make it here, I need to be able to understand all of them. Even if I don’t like them.”

Jon didn’t want to understand. He didn’t want to think that she was right. But deep inside he knew that she had a point. “I still don’t think that’s an excuse to be a dick,” Jon said. “No one should have to tolerate that.”

“It’s not an excuse,” Daenerys agreed, and Jon finally looked back at her. On her face, she carried a soft smile. It made him break out into one too. “Jon, don’t take me for a fool. I might be new in town, but I have been around people before, believe it or not. I know what I am doing. I’d still like to go on a date with you, but I can’t if you won’t trust me. So I ask again - _do you trust me?_ ”

Jon looked her in the eyes and then nodded. “I trust you,” he agreed.

“ _Good_.” Daenerys nodded and held out her hand, and Jon took it with a confused smile. Then, she started walking, leading him with her, and soon they were running. Their hands broke the hold as they jogged, but they stayed side by side, making their way down the street toward the fields and the other runners in the horizon.

“So, where should we meet?” Jon asked.

“How about the corner on Thursday,” Daenerys said. “Five o’clock?”

“If I don’t forget,” Jon teased.

She laughed out of breath.

“I will pick you up. We can go somewhere nice,” Jon said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh, no.” Jon’s face turned to a grimace. He rubbed his palm across his face to wipe off some sweat. “I forgot. My car’s wrecked. The mechanic don’t reckon he can salvage it.”

“That’s fine. I’ll pick you up then.”

Jon gave her a surprised look, but he nodded in agreement. “I’ll book a place.”

“Can’t wait,” she smiled and winked.

And honestly? Neither could Jon.


End file.
